I skip over many other anecdotes at Portsmouth, in order to get fairly out to sea; for I never felt completely disengaged from the thraldom of school, and fully adrift on the wide world of independent life, till we had left the white cliffs of old England many leagues astern. The following brief despatch was penned just before starting; and I can remember the mixture of exultation, and undefined dread of something that was to come which I experienced, while I was writing it:—
“H. M. S. Leander, Spithead, July 11, 1802.
“Yesterday the captain received his sailing orders, and we have now got up a Blue Peter at the fore-top, which is a signal for immediate sailing. We are just going to unmoor ship, and shall sail for Halifax immediately. So, farewell to England!”
Off we set, accordingly; and it may be interesting, and perhaps useful, for youngsters in similar circumstances, to know, that all the pleasurable anticipations came to pass sooner than any of those which were gloomy in their promise. Yet it is curious, that, since those days, when I was first launched upon blue water, I have very rarely set out upon a voyage without experiencing many misgivings, often amounting almost to a wish that some accidental incident might arise to check the expedition altogether. This is the more strange, as I have seldom, if ever, failed to find the reality more delightful than was expected, the difficulties more easily overcome, and the harvest of amusement and instruction more fertile, than any previous reading or conversation, had led me to suppose the jog-trot course of a professional life could possibly afford.
I don’t deny that I had sometimes a plaguy tough job of it to keep my spirits up to this mark; and though I never quite lost heart, I was often very low in the scale of resolution. So much so, that, on looking back to those times, I fear I can discover moments when, had good opportunities offered, I might perhaps have been tempted to cut and run. Fortunately for me, however, there never was the least choice left between perseverance and poverty; and I had been long taught to consider, that the bread of idleness, however supplied, was the most degrading food a gentleman could eat. It is true I was not then so strongly convinced as I am now, that many of the essential advantages of the primogeniture law, lie on the side of the younger sons, yet I always felt, that it was my duty, as well as my interest, to illustrate, practically, the truth of this seeming paradox.
The first damper to this magnanimous resolution, of making myself useful in the world, was caused by a speech of our excellent captain, who, calling all the youngsters into his cabin, a few days after we were out of sight of land, addressed us in the following words:—
“Now, younkers, I have sent for you all, to tell you that you are not of the smallest use on board the ship; in fact, if any thing, you are rather in the way: but since you are here, I have no objection to your learning your business, if you have a mind to do so. You shall, therefore, have your choice, either to keep watch or not, exactly as you please; only, recollect this,—if any of you decide to do your duty in the way proposed, you shall be made to perform it in earnest. So, mind what you are about, and give me an answer to-morrow morning. Now, little fellows, be off with you!”
Out of about a dozen, I think there was only one other besides myself who decided upon keeping watch. Most of this party had been a cruise or two at sea before, and knew that pacing up and down the deck for four hours in the night, over and above the tasks of the day, was no joke; and they rather chuckled at the prospect of being let off so easily. For my part, I was so grievously annoyed at the contemptuous official assurance of being of no use, that I never hesitated an instant, but caught eagerly at any opening which promised me the means of belying this disparaging assertion. Of course, I knew little or nothing of the duties which would be required; but I had a pretty distinct notion, that, provided any person has a specific course chalked out for him to follow, no matter how humble that path may be, there must be a better and a worse way of going over it; and, if so, that there will be a certain amount of distinction due to him who, in the first instance, resolves to do his business properly, and has afterwards perseverance enough to make good his pledge.
To a lad who has health and spirits, keeping watch is rather agreeable than otherwise. I speak from about twelve years of almost uninterrupted experience of the practice, when I say that, upon the whole, its pleasures outweigh its annoyances. There is no opiate, that ever was devised, which gives such hearty relish to sleep, as a good four hours’ night-watch. Without refining or philosophising too deeply, every one, I am sure, who has tried the experiment, will recollect the sort of complete self-satisfaction with which he has ‘turned in,’ after having gone through his work, and stripped off his dripping clothes. Still less will he forget the delighted kind of hug, which he has bestowed upon himself, when fairly under the blankets. All the world is then forgotten; the gale may be rising; the ship in no great safety; the labours of the night just beginning—no matter, his watch is out—his task is done. “I’ll go to sleep,” he says; and, sure enough, a young middy, after the weary watch is out, lies down as perfect a personification of Shakspeare’s ship-boy as imagination could desire. Though not literally perched on the high and giddy mast, he is pretty nearly as soundly rocked; for, after being bagged up in a hammock, and hoisted close to the beams, in the cable tier, with only a foot and a half of space above, and not half a foot below him, he is banged, at every roll, against the stanchions, or driven by the motion of the ship against the deck overhead. In spite of all this, added to the loud creaking of the lower-deck guns, and the hundred-and-fifty other noises above and below him, he sleeps through all, and sleeps soundly; or, as the Spaniards say, ‘Rienda suelta,’—at full gallop.
There is another very satisfactory result of keeping watch, besides the certainty of insuring good sleep. It not only defines the duty to be performed, but the period in which it is to be done, so exactly, that all the rest of the time is free for us to make use of, in the way that most suits our own pleasure. To a person disposed to turn his spare moments to account, such privilege is a great affair, independently of the moral advantage of having a precise task to execute at stated hours. This obligation of working periodically seems, indeed, to act as a sort of hone, on which our intellects, as well as our industry, may be sharpened. Some reasoners and refiners on this matter go so far as to say, that a man of talents and fancy will often be able to turn his gifts to greater account, if forced to give up a considerable portion of his day to dull, or even disagreeable drudgery, than if he had the whole twenty-four hours to himself. It has even been said, that the most successful and imaginative writer of our times, considers himself indebted, for some of his happiest flights, to the necessity of plodding round and round the dull routine of a court of law, for many hours of every day; for, when he takes wing to the country, in the vacation, the spring of his energies is vastly more elastic, than if he had not been chained to a desk for many months before.